


A Building of Energy

by tryslora



Series: All Our Yesterdays [31]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banshee Lydia Martin, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, M/M, Magical Energy, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mathematics, Nemeton, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2072271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can feel the energy building around everything his daughter does; it’s time to talk to Lydia and see if she can shed some light on what’s going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Building of Energy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompt #79 - Energy at fullmoon_ficlet. And yes, this prompt fit perfectly with where the series needed to go, so YAY. As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

Stiles and Jackson don’t talk about going to the cemetery, they just _go_ one night. 

The little ones are with Isaac, and Nikki is staying at Danny’s place for the third time in two weeks. She has a room, after all, and Jackson did promise Danny more time to get to know her, so it works out, even if it means ignoring Nikki and Danny’s frequent comments about giving Stiles and Jackson some _alone_ time.

The past few weeks have been filled with listening to Nikki chatter about fractals and equations and the dynamics of math within the patterns of order and chaos in nature. She has a map of the telluric currents plastered to her wall, and she tells stories that involve mathematical formulae to the two small children, who are too young to be anything but delighted at the idea of the twin Princes Sine and Cosine and their best friend the Princess Tangent and their adventures in the land of imaginary numbers and differentials.

It’s been surreal, but at the same time, Stiles can feel the energy building around her, gathering in and solidifying in some pattern that he doesn’t understand.

It’s long past time to bring Lydia into the discussion, and when Isaac offers to take Stephen and Haley with the Hale and Lahey cubs for the night, Stiles takes him up on it, and an hour later he and Jackson approach Lydia’s grave.

Stiles kneels down and spills the mistletoe twigs onto the ground, lighting them with a spark from his palm. Lydia drifts into focus, sitting atop her own gravestone, legs crossed at the ankles, arms tight across her body. Her smile is tightly drawn across her features, and Jackson sighs. Stiles leans back into him, taking advantage of the way Jackson puts one hand on his shoulder, letting them stand together in this.

It’s going to be an argument, or like pulling teeth, and Stiles isn’t sure he has the energy to accomplish everything they need to do in the twenty minutes before the mistletoe sputters out.

“Danny’s here,” Jackson says, and Lydia merely raises one eyebrow.

“You could have told us,” Stiles adds quietly. “Because yes, we never thought to put him on the list because we assumed Nikki was conceived the usual way.”

Lydia wrinkles her nose. “Nikki was absolutely planned and I _told_ you I had no time for a relationship. Her father didn’t matter. She was mine alone; Danny was never involved more than he had to be.”

“To try to dampen her banshee abilities.”

Lydia glances down at Stiles’s words. “Yes,” she says quietly. “The point became moot after I died, though. And I thought that between her blood heritage and the Nemeton being quiet, it would be enough.”

There’s a moment of surreality, where Stiles still reels over the idea that Lydia kept actively participating in Nikki’s life after her own death, but this has been a part of _his_ reality for so long that he slips into focus quickly enough. He nods, and feels Jackson squeeze his shoulder. “It’s not enough,” Stiles says. “And he’s back.”

“He probably knew she needed him.” Lydia tilts her head. “And felt the Nemeton calling.”

“Are we ever going to say it aloud?” Jackson asks, breaking into the conversation. “Danny is Nikki’s father.”

Lydia meets his gaze, looking past Stiles to focus on Jackson. “Danny is Nikki’s biological sire,” she confirms. “It’s up to you whether you tell her or not; it’s not important and it never _was_ important, which is why I kept it to myself. _You_ are her fathers more than he ever was, even when I was alive. That was by design. Danny is a dear friend, but you two were important to my life.”

The mistletoe sputters, and her image flickers in response. Stiles drops to his knees, gathering the remaining twigs close, keeping them burning.

“And now that the Nemeton’s awake again, he’s here, and he’s teaching Nikki.” Stiles tries to nudge her with his words as he stands, tries to find his footing in the conversation again.

“Math.” Lydia smiles tightly. “We worked it out together, when I was younger. It’s not something I could explain to her—or even to you—from this side of things; it takes more time than I will ever have where she can see me. I’m glad he’s back, particularly if it’s helping. The theories are complex, but they will help her harness her energies, protect herself, and to see patterns in the world around her.”

“She’s drawing the Nemeton.” Jackson slides close to Stiles again, tight behind him with his arm around Stiles’s waist. Stiles wants to argue the position, but the heat of his body feels good, and it is as if they are one person united against Lydia. Not a position Stiles wants to be in often, but it feels warranted now. For Nikki’s sake.

Lydia’s lips purse. “Oh?”

They give her the details, from the fractals to the currents, to the stump’s alignment with death and their new theories. In the end, Lydia is sitting cross-legged on the stone, her hands tightly clasped in her lap as she stares at the remains of the burning twigs.

“So. It seems rather likely that I am the Nemeton’s current anchor on this side of the veil,” she says quietly. “Which you may not have considered, given that I am not traditionally _alive_. The question is whether sacrificing myself would unhinge the anchor completely, or attach it more tightly to death.”

Stiles blinks several times. “No.”

Her smile is gentle briefly before it sharpens. “You don’t get to say that, Stiles. The only one who chooses when I cross over is myself. There is one advantage to being allied with death, after all, and I refuse to give that away.”

“That’s not our only option yet,” Stiles says firmly, and Jackson echoes the statement. Stiles glances over his shoulder, smile quirked, and for a moment Jackson holds his gaze. United front.

When Stiles looks back at Lydia, she’s smiling softly. “I’ll stay at the Nemeton as much as possible,” she says. “If it calls to Nikki, and if I’m allied that closely with it, I should be able to manifest there without the mistletoe, and I can keep her from doing anything we’re not prepared for.”

“That’ll give us some breathing room.” The mistletoe sputters again, and Stiles knows there is nothing he can do to keep it burning longer. He has enough time to see Lydia blow him a kiss and another to Jackson before she fades away.

“I’m not sure that accomplished anything,” Jackson says.

“Oh, it did.” Stiles ticks the points off on his finger. “For one, we have confirmation that Danny is Nik’s biological father, which doesn’t necessarily impact anything, and yet, it does. For two, we now have Lydia guarding the Nemeton against the teenagers doing something colossally stupid.”

“Can’t think where she’d get that idea.”

Stiles shrugs, turning to face Jackson, realizing that he’s still held loosely in the circle of his arms. “Three, I think I know what Nikki’s been doing, and it may be a part of the answer.”

“Explain.”

Stiles tries to do it without using his hands too much, because if he _does_ , he’s going to smash Jackson in the face. “She’s been building energy. And doing math, and drawing fractals. What if it’s the math that is a part of that energy? I call to nature—I pull out the energy that’s already inside of things in order to create what I do. It’s natural, it’s like a spark of _something_. What if she’s building it with structure and pattern, taking tiny bits of things that don’t mean anything on their own and creating a structure that is energy itself? In a way, she’s creating an abstract form of the Nemeton.”

“Which is dead,” Jackson points out. 

“Except maybe it isn’t, _in Nikki_.” It seems so obvious to Stiles. “They’re linked, so the energy from the Nemeton went _somewhere_. A part of it lies within Lydia, and is probably part of what lets her manifest and remain in Beacon Hills. She’s attached to it, it’s attached to her, and so on. But Nikki… she’s young and vital and full of all that lovely energy that calls to death, and right now, Danny’s teaching her how to harness it and create a boundary around it. And quite possibly, rebuild it.”

“Fractals.” Stiles can see the moment that Jackson is right there with him, when his eyes go wide with understanding. “But how do we use this?”

“Not sure yet,” Stiles admits. “It’s complicated, and dangerous, but then, we knew that. And this time the whole pack should be in on it, including Nikki and Caleb, because they’re at the center. And Danny, which means getting him involved with the rest of the pack that have come in during the last dozen or so years. We need to get everyone up to speed, and start figuring this out. And then we need to just… do it.”

His gaze flicks to Jackson’s mouth, then back to his eyes, just in time to see them crinkle at the edge as Jackson smirks. “Do it?”

“Not what I meant.” Stiles snorts and rolls his eyes. He puts his hands on Jackson’s chest, starts to step backwards, but he’s too late. Jackson’s hands catch at him, pulling him in and slightly down and Stiles is surprised that somehow, Jackson still tastes exactly the same as he did ten years ago.

Jackson palms the nape of Stiles’s neck, and he could get away if he wanted but honestly, he doesn’t want to. He knows he _should_. This isn’t the time, or the place, despite the satisfied huff he can hear that sounds suspiciously like Lydia. But it’s familiar and still well-loved, as Stiles licks at Jackson’s lip, asking how deep they will go and then opening his own mouth when Jackson grants him entrance.

Breath hitches on a sigh, and he teases at Jackson’s tongue, tasting him deeply before he finally breaks the kiss, ending with his forehead against Jackson’s. “We shouldn’t.”

“I don’t care,” Jackson says.

Stiles tries to stop the laugh before it escapes. “Fuck, Jackson, it’s a _graveyard_. In fact, it’s _Lydia’s_ grave.”

“And I am pretty sure she’d approve if I stripped you and we fucked right here,” Jackson says dryly. “In case you didn’t notice, she’s trying to push us back together just as much as everyone else.”

“Is that why you’re doing it?” Because that’s an important distinction; Stiles refuses to cave just because everyone seems to expect it. “Is this for Nikki? Because Allison figures it’s a good thing, or because Lydia still sees us as a unit? Is it because Danny told you it’s destiny?”

“It’s because you are an insufferable ass who _still_ hasn’t learned how to stop talking long enough to listen,” Jackson mutters. “And because I never stopped loving you—which we’ve already discussed.”

“Love isn’t enough.”

“Then give it a chance to be a part of whatever else we’ve got. We’re already sleeping together.”

Stiles can’t refute that, can’t say that he doesn’t sleep better when Jackson’s there. They _look_ together to anyone who might be paying attention. They just aren’t, not quite yet. He licks his lips, watches the way Jackson tracks the motion of his tongue, and he smirks wryly. “Fine. We’ll give it a shot, but baby steps, Jackson. And not until this thing with the Nemeton is settled, because Nikki’s our first responsibility.”

“And Haley, and Stephen.”

“And them.” Because oh holy crap, somehow Stiles has gone and rebuilt an entire family with Jackson when he wasn’t paying attention, and it all just seems _right_. It _fits_.

He finally takes a step back and holds out one hand, palm up. There’s a low spark, a tingle as Jackson fits his hand into the space Stiles offers, and again, it’s just _right_. He just hopes that this time when the energy’s done building, it doesn’t blow up in their faces.


End file.
